


Classic

by Devereauxs_Disease



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Hannibal is indulgent, It's so fluffy Will's going to steal it and name it Winston, M/M, shameless/shameful smut, will's sick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-06
Updated: 2017-03-06
Packaged: 2018-09-30 01:44:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10150391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Devereauxs_Disease/pseuds/Devereauxs_Disease
Summary: Will is feeling sick and longs for a childhood remedy. Hannibal has to choose between aesthetics and a Grumpy Graham Cracker.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MagicalDestiny](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MagicalDestiny/gifts).



> This is the sappiest damn thing I've ever written. I'm so sorry. I tried...

         Will pulled the blanket around him, trying to control the shivers that wracked his body.  This was worse than the cliff - worse than the sound of his skull rattling as Jack screamed for Hannibal to stop the saw. Will let himself loll to the side, head thumping weakly on the arm of the sofa. Through half-closed eyes, Will saw calf-leather loafers shuffling toward him.

         “If you were planning to kill me again, now would be a great time,” Will moaned, letting his eyes fall closed. He heard the clink of a tray as it settled on the coffee table before he felt himself being pulled upright and settled against a warm, solid mass.

         “I wouldn’t dream of killing you,” Hannibal murmured in Will’s ear, offering him a steaming cup of tea. “Unless you wipe your nose on my hand loomed throw again.”

         “I apologized for that.” The tea smelled of ginger, Will gulped it down.

         “Hmmm, and yet the stain remains.”

         “You know you actually gutted me, right? Like, my actual innards spilled out.”

         “I regret that more than you’ll ever know.” Hannibal sighed, pressing a kiss behind Will’s ear. “I’m sure the floors had to be refinished. They were original to the house.”

         “If I wasn’t three seconds from dying, I’d smack you.”

         “Don’t be ridiculous, Will. You’ve got hours before dehydration would even seriously threaten you.” Hannibal held up a bowl of soup and made Will swallow a few spoonfuls. “There, I’ve just bought you another half hour, at least.”

         “Did Hopkins ever talk to you about bedside manor?”

         Hannibal smirked. “I’ve never had any complaints.”

         Will sneered. “Sex puns? When I’m too weak to defend myself? Have you no mercy?”

         “None.”  Hannibal fed Will a few more swallows of soup before setting the bowl on the table. “Now, how shall we wait out this illness? I could read to you? Perhaps play something?”

         Will opened his mouth, then snapped it shut. Hannibal frowned.

         “What?”

         “You won’t want to do it.”

         “I would have thought after the incident in Palatine Chapel, you’d know there is very little I’m not willing to do to and for you.”

         “For the last time, if I had known that goddamn nun was watching us, I wouldn’t have-”

         “We’re getting off topic.” Hannibal smiled. “We can talk about physical acts of blasphemy later. What would make you feel better, Will?”

         Will raised an eyebrow. “Old movies.”

         “We don’t even own a television.”

         Will huffed and looked at Hannibal. “I got chicken pox when I was five. I had to stay home with the neighbor lady, Mrs. McGinty, because dad was working doubles. She fed me Campbell’s soup with saltines and we watched old movies she taped off late night TV.”

         “I will not allow canned soup in this house, Will.”

         “You can make your chicken beak broth, strained through the silk stocking of a dead Romanov, all you want. I’m just asking for a few hours of classic cinema.”

         “Classic,” Hannibal formed the word as if it were totally foreign to him. “What an interesting descriptor to go with the entertainment form responsible for the degradation of the arts.”

         Will sighed. “It’s fine. Never mind, I’ll probably be dead by morning anyway.”

         Hannibal kissed his brow, before standing. Long fingers curled around Will’s ankles and lifted, laying him out on the sofa. The empath smiled when warm fingers smoothed his hair and tucked the blanket around his chin. “Rest, now, I’ll make you more chicken beak soup before your imminent death.”

* * *

         Will woke in his bed. Years ago, he would have worried that he was sleepwalking, but now he chalked it up to Hannibal moving him to a better location – he was probably creasing the velvet trim on the sofa.

         He blinked, his foggy head still making cogent thought a trial. Something was wrong with their room, he just couldn’t put his finger on it. He pivoted his head, searching for the problem.

         Antlers over the headboard – check.

         Picture of them covered in blood in the moonlight on Hannibal’s nightstand – check, and still fucking morbid. 

         Two twin armoires for fine suits and the best flannels – check.

         Dog bed and snoring dog in the corner – check.

         Fresh local flowers on the dresser – wait.

         Will squinted at the dresser, where a large black square seemed suspended in the air.

         “We’ve had this monstrosity for less than a day and you’re already squinting at it. I knew this was a mistake.” Hannibal placed a tray of soup on Will’s nightstand and helped Will sit up. Will stared at Hannibal in disbelief as the doctor fussed with Will’s blankets before setting the tray on his lap. “Chicken beak a la Romanov, as requested.”

         “A fucking TV?” Will grabbed Hannibal’s hand, squeezing hard. “You put a TV in our bedroom?”

         “I couldn’t put it in the living room, Will. Someone might see it there.” Hannibal snitted, but his eyes held a smile. “If you would release my hand, I’ll turn it on for you.”

         Will grinned, stirring his soup. “You did this all while I was asleep?”

         “I have a medical degree and managed to avoid and outwit the most brilliant minds at the FBI for years, Will.” Hannibal turned on the television before returning to the bed. “I’m capable of googling the location of an electronics store. ”

         “I can just picture you there, staring at a wall of televisions and pondering the aesthetic value of the 40-inch versus the 50-inch.”

         “You shall have to make due with a 30-inch television, anything more would have overwhelmed the room.” Hannibal handed Will a stack of DVDs.

         “I’ve made due with smaller things in this bedroom.”

         With a huff Hannibal snatched at the DVDs. Will whacked his hand with his spoon. “Temper, Dr. Lecter. Now, let’s see what we have here.”

         Will carefully flipped through a stack of eight DVDs, smiling at the familiar titles. He pulled a copy of _The Best Years of Our Lives_ out of the stack, running his fingers over the title and remembering the way he and Mrs. McGinty sobbed over the film when he caught the flu in 5 th grade. “How did you know what to get?”

         “Apparently, America has a film institute,” Hannibal said with a mild snarl. “I found as many titles from their top 100 classic films list as I could. I trust you’ve found at least one title to watch?”

         Will tossed a case to Hannibal. “Here’s lookin’ at you, kid.”

         Hannibal studied the DVD case. “Casablanca? My roommate at Hopkins used to take women to screenings of this at The Charles, using its insipid emotional manipulation to convince them to sleep with him. ”

         “You have a whole sketchbook dedicated to the bridge of my nose. You’re not really going to pretend you’re immune to overwrought feelings, are you?”

         Hannibal glared, turning on his heel to put the movie in the DVD player. “I trust you know how to operate this thing? I’ll be downstairs prepping Mrs. Russell if you need me.”

         Will made a grab for Hannibal, nearly dislodging the tray on his lap. “Wait! You can’t just leave me. The whole point is to snuggle with me and watch this.”

         “May I read?”

         “No!”

         “May I point out any dramatic flaws I find-”

         “You can sit your ass on this bed and hold me. Silently. If I hear you snort once, I’m going to let Luscious sleep on the bed tonight.”

         With a sigh, Hannibal walked around the bed. Peeling back the covers, he spent a few moments arranging a truly ridiculous pillow mountain before settling back upon it. With a pained sigh, Hannibal opened his arms and cast an expectant look at Will.

         After a few careful tray maneuvers, Hannibal had his arms full of sniffling, slightly feverish empath. He tried not to smile when he realized Will was mouthing the words along with Humphrey Bogart.

                                                  

* * *

         “Well, was it tortuous as you thought?” Will craned his neck to look in Hannibal’s eyes. He startled when he saw tear stains on Hannibal’s cheeks, nearly toppling the tray. “Holy. Shit.”

         “I’ve always appreciated tales of star-crossed lovers.” Hannibal steadied the tray on Will’s lap.

         “No you don’t!” Will poked Hannibal in the chest. “You don’t believe in star-crossed shit! You waited for three years for me to come back to you and when I didn’t meet your deadline, you made Francis your personal errand boy and created so much chaos I had to throw us off a cliff and reset everything!”

         Hannibal glared at Will, shifting off the bed and grabbing the tray in one graceful movement. The sudden absence of a strong chest left Will to flop unceremoniously to the side.

         “In your mind, Rick’s going to hang out in Casablanca until the war is over and then send Louis to kill Lazlo and drive Ilsa back to him, won’t he?”

         Hannibal walked out of the room without saying a word. Will listened to the sounds of dishes being aggressively scrubbed and put in cabinets. The empath’s gut started churning, but he was certain it had nothing to do with the fever. He thought of going downstairs, but he was still unsteady on his feet. Will had just about convinced himself to risk it when Hannibal appeared in the doorway, carrying a plate of brown butter and blackberry financiers and a mug of tea. He sat both beside Will before fixing his eyes on the television.

         “Have you selected the next film?”

         “Oh, uh, here.” Will handed Hannibal a random DVD, frowning when the doctor avoided grazing his fingers during the exchange.

         Hannibal resettled on his nest of pillows, pulling Will to him with a sigh. The relief that washed over Will made his head spin. He sunk into the embrace, grateful for the long fingers combing through his curls.

         “For the record, Ilsa would have been grateful.” Will whispered, pressing back into Hannibal. “If Rick had found her and made her acknowledge who she really wanted to be with. She would have been truly happy, for the first time in her life.”

         “Quiet, Will.” Hannibal pressed a kiss into the swirl of hair just behind Will’s ear. “I’ll never find out why some like it hot if you insist on talking through the movie.”

                                                  

* * *

         Hannibal woke up to a thunk somewhere by the dresser. Immediately alert and ready to pounce, he relaxed when he saw Will adjusting a large vase of wildflowers.

         “Where’s the television?”

         “CHRIST!” Will spun, glaring. “I’m buying you a fucking bell.”

         Hannibal lifted an eyebrow. Will faltered slightly under his gaze, ducking his head.

         “I woke up this morning without a headache, fever, or dizziness.” Will shrugged. “I’m better. So I put the TV in the garage and brought back your flowers.”

         “But we haven’t finished watching all the films.”

         Will shook his head, crawling onto the foot of the bed. “It’s ok Hannibal, you don’t have to humor anymore, I’m fine.”

         Will settled on Hannibal’s hips grinding down lightly.

         “You’re fine?” Hannibal’s hand was already under Will’s shirt, thumbing a rapidly hardening nipple.

         “Yup,” Will popped the _p_ then leaned into Hannibal’s hands. “One might even say frisky.”

         “I think I should give you a thorough physical, just to be sure.” Hannibal grabbed Will’s hips and flipped them, landing heavily atop Will with a grin.

         “UGH! Really? I think the nausea is back.” Will laughed, slapping lightly at Hannibal as the doctor pulled off his pants. 

                                                  

* * *

         Will woke up to cold sheets and a dark room. He squinted at the clock, nearly four and Hannibal was nowhere to be found. The doctor had been distracted all day, and now his side of the bed was empty. Will looked to the corner of the room, noting that Luscious’ bed was vacant as well.

          _Had the dog gotten sick?_

         With a grimace, Will headed downstairs. He hoped Luscious hadn’t thrown up on anything older than he was. As he padded toward the kitchen he heard something. Not muttered Lithuanian cursing, or the whimpers of a sick dog…it was music, vaguely familiar music.

         Will followed the sound to the doorway of the kitchen, only to find it empty. He scanned his surroundings until he saw a glow coming from beneath the door of the walk-in pantry. Careful to be soundless, Will edged toward the door and eased it open.

         Hannibal had sandwiched the television between the sugar and the flour. He had dragged a kitchen stool into the cramped space and was currently huddled over it, back pressed to the spice shelves, a plate with the last of the financiers resting on his knee. Will watched as Hannibal groped for a pastry, eyes never leaving the screen. He broke the cake in half, tossing one side to Luscious who gratefully snapped up his treat.

         Will moved closer, but Hannibal’s fixation on the screen kept him unaware.

         “You identify with Scarlett, don’t you?” Will said casually, taking the last financier off the plate and smirking at the full body flinch he elicited from Hannibal. “I can see it. Pretty little sociopath, too busy with social gatherings and plotting to realize she’s fallen in love.”

         Will bit into the financier and grinned, letting crumbs spill over his lips and onto Hannibal’s pajamas.

         “Will-”

         “You could have just said something. I’d be happy to have a movie night so you don’t have to sneak off with Luscious to the pantry.” Will ruffled Hannibal’s hair. “You smell like rosemary.”

         “I simply couldn’t sleep and felt no need to wake you.” Hannibal picked at a crumb that had landed on the sleeve of his red sweater. He sat the plate on the shelf and stood. “I merely thought a film would relax me.”

         Will rolled his eyes.

         “Tuesdays will be movie night from now on,” Will declared. “I get home early and I’ll set up the TV in the bedroom. You’ll make us some unbearably pretentious version of popcorn and gummy bears. And we’ll watch a movie. The rest of the week you can pretend to be the persnickety pain in my ass you always are.”

         Will leaned in, offering Hannibal a serious look. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell Chilton you’re a dirty, common little… cinemaphile.”

         Hannibal sneered and opened his mouth. Will sealed his lips over Hannibal’s before the doctor could voice his outrage. Will could feel the fight leave Hannibal immediately, warm lips and tongue eagerly responding to him. When they separated, Will ran a thumb over Hannibal’s lip, pulling the doctor to stand.

         “You should be kissed, and often. And by someone who knows how.” Will slapped Hannibal’s ass. “Now get back to bed Miss Scarlett.”

         “If I refuse, will you carry me kicking and screaming up the stairs?” Hannibal’s lips quirked into the ghost of a smile.

         Instead of answering, Will dipped down, wrapping his arms around Hannibal’s waist and yanking the doctor over his shoulder. He marched them up the stairs and toward the bedroom, Hannibal’s laughter filling the house.

         When they reached the bedroom, Will flopped Hannibal onto the bed like a sack of potatoes, gasping for air. “That is harder than it looks. How’d you get me out of the Verger manor without a medical team to administer oxygen?”

         Still flushed from laughter, Hannibal pulled Will onto the bed, settling the empath atop his chest.

         “Only on Tuesdays,” Hannibal murmured. “And only classic cinema.”

         “Deal,” Will nodded solemnly. “We haven’t even watched the real classics yet. Wait ‘til I get a copy of Rambo.”


End file.
